


Equivocal // Evanescent

by bIInaryPsIIgh



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bIInaryPsIIgh/pseuds/bIInaryPsIIgh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotion. That’s what’s always hit you last. You still can’t look her in the eye. You can’t look away though. There’s something almost addicting about watching your friends die. It makes seeing them alive just that much sweeter. It’s almost beautiful, in a way. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equivocal // Evanescent

Well, fuck. Good glorious fuck. Amazingly fantastically wonderful fuck. … Fuck. You drop your head heavily into your hands, shoulders sinking. How many times were you going to fuck up the timelines? First you fail to save John from Terezi (which was understandable, considering, but still. Not cool.) and now this? A long sigh escapes you. “Gh… D-... Fhu-...” Shit, there’s really no escaping it, huh? You lift your head and glance toward the sound. Blood. Even after all the deaths, it’s still the first thing that hits you, bright or rich in tone and always so fucking _much_ of it. Next is the movement, the sound of it, the jerking, staggered twitches of broken fingers, the way her legs hang limply from the bed. The bed- Why did you even bring her here? You know it’s a doomed timeline. You’d be damned if you let her bleed out in that fucking monster’s cave, though. She deserves better. “Dae-” Shit, she almost managed it that time. She’s turned as much as she can to look at you, distorting her twisted frame even more. That thing really did a number on her… Her pelvis and hips are demolished. They were fucking flat when you found her, crushed and popped open like some nasty little bug. You clench your jaw.

Emotion. That’s what’s always hit you last. You still can’t look her in the eye. You can’t look away though. There’s something almost addicting about watching your friends die. It makes seeing them alive just that much sweeter. So you watch. You watch the exposed muscles of her arms flex and pulse more red over her too-bright yellow bed. It’s almost beautiful, in a way. She tries to say your name again, and again you pretend to not react. How do people even react in these situations? ‘Oh man, that looks like it hurts! Just wait it out, bro, you’ll be, like, ultra powerful and hella rad once you die.’ Fuck that. It’s easier to just stand and watch. That’s what you’re for anyway, watching, making sure everything goes smoothly. And it is. You’ve already gone back and fixed things, made sure the alpha timeline is running smooth as fucking silk. Now you wait. You wait for her to die and come back and- well, die again. Aw, fuck this. You step forward, decaptchaloguing your sword. She shifts, reflexively attempting to scoot back. It takes a moment, and then realisation hits her and she lets her head hit the stone. You approach slowly, sword low at your side. When you reach the bedside, you’re not sure you can do it. It would make everything so much easier. She could die right then and there instead of having to come back all high-and-mighty triumphant in god tier just to die again.

Aw, fuck it. You recaptchalogue your sword and take a seat next to her. It takes a few moments of nothing happening for her to open her eyes. She gives you a frustrated, almost disappointed look. “Sorry.” You don’t recognise the sound of your own voice. It’s broken and hollow and completely pathetic. You look down at her, finally leveling gazes, and it’s when you see un-muted, rich pink-and-purple that you realise you don’t have your shades on. It breaks you, knowing she can see the hurt, the hesitance. You hate that she can see it, that anyone who showed up or strolled by could, but it’s also a relief. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to explain that you can’t help her, that she has to suffer longer because of you, that you’ll regret this until your own eventual death.

She reaches out, or tries to, joints popping wetly, to touch you. It’s just a brush of limp and rigid fingers over jeans, but it hurts. It feels like you’re chest has collapsed and is simultaneously trying to explode and you stand up. You stand up and turn away because you can’t handle it. You’re too _cool_ to handle it. She croaks out something that might have been your name and coughs, which only ends in her choking. She’s gasping and drowning in her own fucking blood and you’re too damn conceited to do anything. You just do what you always do. You wait. You wait for her to stop crying, stop sputtering and coughing. You wait for her to die, you want her to die. That’s the sick truth of it. You’re listening to your best friend’s lungs fill with blood as she tries to call to you and all you can think is that you want her to just fucking die already. And all too soon, you get your wish. It’s silent and still and you don’t even turn around as you call forth your turntables. She won’t want to see you, not after that. Time to run. Again. Well, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> I may turn this into a series of sorts, but who knows.  
> Let me know what you guys think of it and if I should write more. It means a lot! Thanks!


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